By Kimberly Johnson
i
The last time I lost you, I had turned
To salt. The hospice nurses all assured
An easier passing…
The last time I lost you, I had turned
To salt. The hospice nurses all assured
An easier passing…
Explore Poems: Death
Showing 1-20 of 2,090 poems
- By Malcolm TariqYou may find her behind
Rowan Oak, a shadow
of fortress where then now
you find no real entry place. - By Meredith StrickerEvery morning opening the newspaper, I am faced
with the thin line that divides disaster and deprivation
from a world of luminous wealth. Tuesday, January 29th,
for instance, bodies, many of them children, lie on the ground
They drowned in the canal trying to escape a weapons depot fire
and explosion in Lagos. Their heads are twisted in straw and dust
near the feet of on-lookers whose cries we cannot hear - By Ellen BassWhat if you knew you'd be the last
to touch someone?
If you were taking tickets, for example,
at the theater… - By Shira HausI prayed for my friend to live and he didn’t. I held his puffy hand, his heart jumping green on the…
- By Khari Dawsonmom tells me I smell like
her Mom—
something flowery and
the blackened endings
of a joint.
I feared her … - By Rasaq Malik Gbolahanuntil the clock of my grandmother’s body
stopped working & her remains
were lowered into the earth on… - By Kaylee ChengDo not tell her that Grandma is watching her from
above. She is not religious. (And nervous about the… - By Blas FalconerIn Francisco Oller’s El Velorio, a child lies
on a table as if sleeping. It is covered in lace
and blossoms… - By Martha SilanoIs this the last time I’ll admire the guys
in their neon-yellow slickers, guiding us
to our parking spots… - By Martha SilanoBecause why not? Why not take the smashed pinecone
of my life, render it in purple? Why not dream of… - It leaves a mark on me when I fall
in my father's kitchen.
Only a few days it's been
of lifting him up … - By Ada LimónOn my way to the fertility clinic,
I pass five dead animals.
First a raccoon with all four paws… - By Andrew FrisardiPRIMEAt dawn, the shapes of cypresses in fog
Were fingers pointing up from graves, as if what's born… - By Felicia Dorothea HemansSee’st thou yon gray gleaming hall,
Where the deep elm-shadows fall?
Voices that have left the earth
… - By William Butler YeatsI
What shall I do with this absurdity —
O heart, O troubled heart — this caricature,
Decrepit age that... - By Molly PeacockWhen you looked up and said, “Thank you,” I saw
your gratitude rise over us like rain.
It seemed external… - By Molly PeacockOf all the times I wished you would die quick,
my despair ballooning like a cartoon
bubble (but kept… - By William Butler YeatsMidnight has come and the great Christ Church bellAnd many a lesser bell sound through the room;And …